Captain Marryat (continued 8)

The living was the same as at a boarding-house. Breakfast was ready in the large hall by nine o’clock, and remained there until every one had come down at their own hour. Dinner was always ready at five o’clock, and then Crissobella presided at the table. She admitted civilians, army officers, and navy, down to midshipmen; but warrant officers and captains of merchant vessels were considered too low. On the whole, it was a very pleasant establishment, as the private rooms were well furnished, the slaves numerous, and the attendance very good. Considering the price of most eatables on that island, it could not be considered as very dear, although the wines, etcetera, made up a formidable bill at the end of the month.

This kind of exclusiveness on the part of Signora Crissobella made the hotel quite the fashion, and certainly it was by far the best in the town. The inmates of it at this time were besides me Lieut. Thomas Dott and Lieut. William Maxwell, both appointed to the Diligente; three or four young civilians, on mercantile speculations from New York; three midshipmen, who had been left behind on account of fever, and who were promising fair, by the life they were now leading, to be very soon sent to the hospital again; and one or two planters from the other islands. The latter and I were very well behaved, but the civilians were noisy, drinking and smoking from morning till night. The midshipmen were equally troublesome; and as for the new-made lieutenants, they were so authoritative and so disagreeable, and gave themselves such consequential airs, that Mammy Crissobella, as the slaves called her, was quite indignant—she had never had such a disorderly set in her house.

She complained to me, and I spoke to them, but that was of little use. I had no power over the young merchants, and the three midshipmen did not belong to my ship. As for my lieutenants, I could not say much at their giving themselves airs at an hotel where they paid for what they had. It was not an offence that a captain could remonstrate upon. I therefore merely said, that Mammy Crissobella could not have them in her house if they did not leave off their treatment of the slaves, and if they continued to give her so much trouble and annoyance. At last our hostess would stand their behaviour no longer, and ordered them all to leave the hotel, sending in their bills; but they all were unanimous in declaring that they would not go, and it was not very easy to use force on such occasions. I tried all I could to make matters right, but my efforts were of little avail. At last Mammy Crissobella became quite furious. She did not make any alteration in the meals, as that would be punishing all of us; but she refused wine and spirits; this they did not care for, as they sent for it elsewhere by their own servants, and there was nothing but noise and confusion all day along. Mammy often came to appeal to me, and wished to go to the governor, but I persuaded her not to do so; and the mutiny continued, and every day there was nothing but altercation at the meals.

“So help me God, gemmen, you no gemmen. You make wish me dead, dat you do. I tak obeah water some day. I not live like this,” said Mammy Crissobella. “I take pepper-pot—I kill myself.”

“Pray don’t do that,” replied Tommy Dott; “we shall be put to the expense of mourning.”

“And I shall weep my eyes out,” continued one of the mercantile gentlemen.

“Weep your eyes out—is that all? I shall blow my brains out,” said another.

“And I will lie down on your grave and die,” said the third.

“Dat all very well, gemmen; you say dat and laugh—but I no slave. ’Pose I not get you out my house, I ab vengeance, now I tell you, so look to that. Yes,” continued Mammy Crissobella, striking the table with her fist, “I ab revenge.”

“I have been thinking,” said one of the mids, “what I shall do if Mammy Crissobella takes pepper-pot; I shall marry Leila, and keep the hotel. Mammy, you’ll leave me the plate and furniture.”

Leila was the head female slave—a very well-featured young mulatto girl, and a great favourite, as she was always laughing, always in good humour, and very kind and attentive. At this remark Leila laughed, and Mammy Crissobella, who observed her showing her white teeth, “You laugh, you huzzy: what you laugh for, Leila? Get away—get out of room. I give you nice flogging, by-by. You dare laugh—you take side against me, you nigger.”

I must here observe that Mammy Crissobella had been closeted with me for some time previous to this scene, and that Leila and the two planters were in the secret; this was, of course, unknown, and the hostess’s anger appeared now to be extended towards me and the two planters, with whom she had been on good terms.

Shortly afterwards Mammy rose and left the room, and then I spoke to the party, and told them that they were driving the poor woman to extremities. The planters agreed with me, and we argued the case with them, but the majority were, of course, against us, and the young merchants appeared to be very much inclined to be personal with me. At last I replied, “Very well, gentlemen—as you please; but as I happen to be well known both to the admiral and governor I give you fair warning that, if this continues much longer, I will report the affair. I should be very sorry to do so; but the house is now very uncomfortable, and you have no right to remain when the landlady insists upon your going.”

At this reply of mine the naval portion of the guests were silent, but the civilians more insolent than before. I did not wish to come to open war, so I said nothing more, and left the table. After I was gone, the refractory parties made more noise than ever. Just before the dinner hour on the following day, Mammy Crissobella sent a circular round to the young men, stating that she could not receive them at dinner. They all laughed, and went down to table as before. The dinner was better than usual, and they complimented Mammy upon it. Mammy, who had taken her seat with a scowl on her brow, and had not spoken a word, merely bowed her head in reply to their observations.

Dinner was over, and then Mammy desired Leila to bring her a goblet which was on the sideboard, and a small white jug which was in the buffet. She appeared much distressed, and hesitated a good deal, putting the goblet to her lips, and then putting it down on the table without tasting it. This conduct induced us all to look seriously at her. At last she took it up, sighed deeply, and drank the whole off at a draught. For a few seconds she held her hand over her forehead, with her elbows resting on the table. At last she looked up and said, “Gemmen, I got a little speech to make—I very sorry dat I not drink your health; but it no use—dat why you see me drink; I tell plenty time you make me mad—you make me drink obeah water—make me kill myself. Now I ab done it—I drink pison water just now. In two hour I dead woman.”

At this communication, the truth of which appeared confirmed by the woman’s behaviour, all the company started from their chairs.

“Gemmen, I dare say you all very sorry; you be more sorry by-and-by. Captain, I beg your pardon; Mr W—, Mr G (the two planters), I beg your pardon; I not mean hurt you, but could not help it. Now I tell all company, all drink the pison water—because I not like die on the jibbit, I drink de pison water—Gemmen your dinner all pison, and you all pisoned. Yes, all pisoned,” cried Mammy Crissobella at the highest pitch of her voice, and rushing out of the room.

At this announcement, I started from my chair and clasped my hands, as if in agony. I looked round me—never did I witness such a variety of horror as was expressed in the different faces at the hotel. The old planter; Mr D, who sat next to me, and who was in the secret as well as Mr G, laid his head on the table with a groan. “The Lord have mercy on my sins,” exclaimed Mr G; Mr Lieutenant Maxwell looked me in the face, and then burst into tears; Mr Lieutenant Dott put his fingers down his throat, and with three or four more getting rid of their dinner as fast as they could.

At last I sprang up to ring the bell; no one answered. I rang again more furiously. At last a slave appeared.

“Where’s my servant?”

“Not here, sar.”

“Where’s all the people of the house?”

“All with missy, sar; Mammy Crissobella die.”

“Run down then to the beach, and desire the surgeon of the brig to come up immediately.”

“Yes, sar,” replied the negro, leaving the room.

“Oh, I feel it now—here,” exclaimed I, putting my hand to my chest; “I’m suffocating.”

“And so do I,” replied one of the midshipmen, weeping.

The girl Leila now entered the room in tears. “Mammy dead,” said she. “Oh Captain Keene, I very sorry for you: you come with me, I give you something. I know how stop pison.”

“Do you, Leila? then give it me; quick, quick.”

“Yes, yes; give it us quick.”

“I not stuff enough but I make more when I gib what I ab to Captain Keene. You all stay still, not move; pose you move about, make pison work. I come back soon as I can.”

Leila then took my arm and led me tottering out of the room, when I went to Mammy Crissobella, and laughed till I cried; but the punishment was not over. After remaining about ten minutes looking at each other, but neither speaking nor moving, in pursuance of Leila’s direction, with the utmost despair in their countenances, they were gladdened by the return of Leila with a large jug, out of which she administered a glass of some compound or another to each of them. I watched at the door, and the eagerness with which they jostled and pushed each other to obtain the dose before the rest was very amusing, and never did they swallow any liquor with so much avidity, little imagining that, instead of taking what was to cure them, they were now taking what was to make them very sick; but so it was; and in a few minutes afterwards the scene of groaning, crying, screaming, writhing with pain, was quite awful.

After a time, the slaves came in and carried them all to their respective beds, leaving them to their own reflections, and the violent effects of the drugs administered, which left them no repose for that night, and in a state of utter exhaustion on the following morning.

At daylight I went into Mr Dott’s room with the surgeon, to whom I had confided the secret. Tommy was a miserable object.

“Thank heaven! here is one still alive,” said the surgeon to me.

“Oh! Captain Keene,” said Tommy, “I’m glad to see that you are so well; but you had the remedy given you long before we had.”

“Yes,” replied I, “it was given me in good time; but I hope it was not too late with you.”

“I feel very bad,” replied Tommy. “Doctor, do you think I shall live?”

The doctor felt his pulse, and looked very grave; at last he said, “If you get over the next twelve hours, I think you may.”

“How many are dead?” inquired Tommy.

“I don’t know; you are the first that I have visited; it’s a shocking business.”

“I’ve been thinking that we were very wrong,” said Tommy; “we ought not to have driven the poor woman to desperation. If I do recover, her death will be on my conscience.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that, Tommy,” replied I; “but the doctor says you must remain very quiet, and therefore I shall leave you. Good-bye; I will see you again this evening.”

“Good-bye, sir, and I hope you’ll forgive me for not having been so respectful as I should have been.”

“Yes, yes, Tommy; we have been friends too long for that.”

Mammy Crissobella’s dose had certainly put an end to all Tommy’s spirit of resistance. All the others who had been victims to our plot were kept in the dark as to the real facts, and, as soon as they were able to be moved, paid their bills to Leila, and left the house.

Chapter Twenty Eight.

On the third day, Tommy Dott and Mr Maxwell went on board, imagining that they had had a miraculous escape, and the two old planters and I were left the only inmates of the house to welcome the resurrection of Mammy Crissobella, who was again as busy as before. She said to me, “Massy Keene, I really under great obligation to you; suppose you want two, three hundred, five hundred pounds, very much at your service; never mind pay back.”

I replied that I did not want any money, and was equally obliged to her. But the affair had already made a great noise. It was at first really supposed that Mammy Crissobella had poisoned them as well as herself, and I was obliged to refute it, or the authorities would have taken it up. As the admiral sent down to make inquiries, I went up to him and told him the whole story; I was obliged to do the same to the governor, and it was the occasion of great mirth all over the island, and no small mortification to those who had been the sufferers. Mammy Crissobella was complimented very much upon her successful stratagem to clear her house, and she was quite in ecstasies at the renown that she obtained.

One day the admiral sent for me, and said—“Keene, I can wait no longer the arrival of another vessel. I must send you to England with despatches: you must sail to-morrow morning.”

As I was all ready, I took my leave of the admiral, who promised me every assistance if on his station, and his good word with the Admiralty, and said that he would send down my despatches at daylight. I went on board, gave the necessary orders, and then returned to the hotel to pack up my portmanteau and pay my bill; but Mammy Crissobella would not hear of my paying anything; and as I found that she was beginning to be seriously angry, I gave up the point. So I gave the old lady a kiss as a receipt-in-full, and another to Leila, as I slipped a couple of doubloons into her hand, and went on board. The next morning shortly after daylight the despatches were on board, and the Diligente was under all the sail she could carry on her way to England.

The Diligente sailed as well as ever, and we made a very quick passage. I found my ship’s company to be very good, and had no trouble with my officers. Tommy Dott was very well behaved, notwithstanding all his threats of what he would do. It was therefore to be presumed that he was not very ill treated.

We were now fast approaching the end of our passage, being about a hundred miles to the South West of the Scilly Islands, with a light wind from the southward when, in the middle watch, Bob Cross, who had the charge of it, came down and reported firing in the South East. I went up, but, although we heard the report of the guns, we could not distinguish the flashes. I altered our course to the direction, and we waited till daylight should reveal what was going on. Before daybreak we could see the flashes, and make out one vessel, but not the other. But when the sun rose the mystery was cleared off. It was a French schooner privateer engaging a large English ship, apparently an East-Indiaman. The ship was evidently a good deal cut up in her spars and rigging.

Bob Cross, who was close to my side when I examined them with my glass, said, “Captain Keene, that rascally Frenchman will be off as soon as he sees us, if we hoist English colours; but if you hoist French colours, we may get down and pin him before he knows what we are.”

“I think you are right, Bob,” says I. “Hoist French colours. He will make sure of his prize then, and we shall laugh at his disappointment.”

As Cross turned away to go aft, I perceived a chuckle on his part, which I did not understand, as there was nothing particular to chuckle about. I thought it was on account of the Frenchman’s disappointment, when he found that we were not a friend, as he might suppose.

“Hadn’t we better fire a gun, Captain Keene, to attract their attention?”

“Yes,” replied I; “it will look as if we really were Frenchmen.” The gun was fired, and we continued to stand towards them with a good breeze. About seven o’clock we were within two miles, and then we observed the Englishman haul down her colours, and the schooner immediately went alongside, and took possession. I continued to run down, and in half an hour was close to her. Calling up the boarders, I laid the brig alongside the schooner; as half her men were on board the Indiaman, they were taken by surprise, and we gained possession with very trifling loss on our side, much to the astonishment of the crew of the privateer, as well as that of the Indiaman.

The captain, who was on deck, informed me that they had engaged the schooner for nine hours, and that he had some hopes of beating her off, until he saw me come down under French colours, upon which he felt that further resistance was vain. I told him I was afraid the schooner would escape, if I had not deceived him, and complimented him upon his vigorous defence. The schooner was a very fine vessel, mounting fourteen guns, and of three hundred tons burthen. In fact, she was quite as large as the Diligente.

While we were handing the prisoners over to the brig, and securing them, I accepted the invitation of the captain of the Indiaman to go into the cabin with him, where I found a large party of passengers, chiefly ladies, who were very loud in their thanks for my rescue. In another hour we were all ready. I left a party on board the Indiaman to repair damages, and my surgeon to assist the wounded men, and hauled off the brig and schooner. The latter I gave into the charge of Tommy Dott, and we all made sail.

As I was walking the quarter-deck, delighted with my success, Cross, who had the watch and was by my side, said, “I think, Captain Keene, you did very right in hoisting French colours.”

“Why, yes, Cross,” replied I; “she is a very fast sailer, that is evident, and she might have escaped us.”

“That’s not what I mean, Captain Keene.”

“What then, Cross?”

“Why, sir, I would not tell you why I wished you to hoist French colours at the time, because I was afraid that, if I did, you would not have done so; but my reason was, that it would make a great difference in our prize-money, and I want some, if you do not.”

Even then I could not imagine what Cross meant, for it never came into my head, and I turned round and looked at him for an explanation.

“Why, Captain Keene, if we had hoisted English colours, the schooner would have made sail and gone off, and, even if she had not done so, the Indiaman would have held out till we came down; but as he hauled down his colours, and was taken possession of by the enemy, he now becomes a recapture, and I expect the salvage of that Indiaman will be of more value to us than two or three of such schooners.”

“That certainly did not enter my head when I hoisted the colours, Cross, I must confess.”

“No, sir, that I saw it did not, but it did mine.”

“It’s hardly fair, Cross.”

“Quite fair, sir,” replied Bob. “The Company is rich, and can afford to pay, and we want it in the first place, and deserve it in the next. At all events, it’s not upon your conscience, and that schooner is such a clipper, that I really think we should have lost her, if she had run for it; besides, as she is as strong as we are, we might have lost a good many men before we took her.”

“That’s very true, Bob,” replied I, “and satisfies me that I was right in what I did.”

The wind had sprung up much fresher from the westward, and we were now all three running with a fair wind; and as it continued, we did not put into Plymouth, but continued our course for Portsmouth, and on the third day, at a very early hour in the morning, anchored at Spithead.

Chapter Twenty Nine.

As it was too soon to present myself to the admiral, I dressed, ready to go on shore, and hoisted the number of the Diligente as given by the admiral at Jamaica; but, as I expected, it was not known to the guard-ship, and there was much surmise among the early risers as to what might be the large ship, schooner, and brig-of-war, which had entered.

We had just finished the washing of the decks, and I was standing aft with Cross, who had the morning watch, when he observed to me, “Captain Keene, we are now at anchor as near as possible to where the Calliope was when you went adrift in the boat with poor Peggy. Some difference between your situation now and then.”

“Yes, Bob,” replied I; “I was thinking the same when I was dressing this morning, and I was also thinking that you would be very anxious to go on shore—so you may take a boat as soon as you please; I will order one to be given to you.”

“Thankey, sir. I am a little anxious to see the poor girl, and I think matters will go smooth now.”

“I hope so, with all my heart. Let the gigs be all dressed and cleaned, and the boat manned at six bells. Pass the word for them to get their breakfast.”

As it was better that I should wait for the admiral’s getting up, than that he should wait for me, I was on shore, and up at the office at half-past seven o’clock, and found that the admiral was in his dressing-room. The secretary was there, and I delivered my orders and despatches, with which he went up to the admiral. In about a quarter of an hour he came down again with the port-admiral’s request that I would wait for him, and stay to breakfast. The secretary remained with me, extracting all the West India intelligence that I could give him.

As soon as the admiral made his appearance, he shook me warmly by the hand. “Captain Keene,” said he, “I wish you joy: I see you are following up your career in the West Indies. We know you well enough by the despatches, and I am glad to be personally acquainted with you. This last business will, I have no doubt, give you the next step, as soon as you have been a little longer as commander. Mr Charles, desire them to make the signal for the Diligente and schooner to come into harbour. The Indiaman may, of course, do as he pleases. Now then, for breakfast.”

The admiral, of course, asked me as many questions as the secretary, and ended, as I rose to take my leave, in requesting the pleasure of my company to dinner on that day. As the reader may suppose, I had every reason to be satisfied with my reception.

As soon as I had left the admiral’s office, I put into the post-office, with my own hands, my letter to my mother, and one to Lord de Versely. In the latter I told him of my good fortune, and enclosed a copy of my despatch to the Admiralty. Although the despatch was written modestly, still the circumstances in themselves—my having recaptured an Indiaman, and carried, by boarding, a vessel of equal force to my own, and superior in men—had a very good appearance, and I certainly obtained greater credit than it really deserved. It was not at all necessary to say that I hoisted French colours, and therefore took the schooner unawares, or that at the time most of her men were on board of the Indiaman; the great art in this world is, to know where to leave off, and in nothing more than when people take the pen in their hands.

As soon as I had finished my correspondence—for I wrote a few lines to Mrs Bridgeman, at Chatham, and a postscript to my mother’s letter—I went down to the saluting battery, when I found that the two vessels were just entering the harbour. I went up and reported it at the admiral’s office, and the admiral went on board of both vessels to examine them himself, and he ordered a dock-yard survey. They were both pronounced fit for his Majesty’s service, with the necessary dock-yard alterations. The crew of the Diligente were turned over to a hulk, preparatory to unrigging and clearing her out for dock. As soon as I left the admiral’s house, I sat down at the George Hotel, where I had taken up my quarters, and wrote a long letter to Minnie Vanderwelt.

Cross called upon me the next morning. I saw by his countenance that he had good news to tell me. He had found his lady-love as constant as he could wish, and having explained to the blind old smuggler that he had been offered and accepted the situation of boatswain in his Majesty’s service during the time that he was in the West Indies, he had received his approbation of his conduct, and a warm welcome to the house whenever he could come on shore.

“I have not put the question to the old chap yet, Captain Keene,” said he, “but I think I will very soon.”

“Don’t be in too great a hurry, Bob,” replied I. “Give the old fellow a little more ’baccy, and ask his advice as to what you are to do with your prize-money. You must also talk a little about your half-pay and your widow’s pension.”

“That’s very good advice, Captain Keene,” replied Cross. “Mercy on us! how things are changed! It appears but the other day that I was leading you down to this very hotel, to ship you into the service, and you was asking my advice, and I was giving it to you; and now I am asking your advice, and taking it. You have shot ahead in every way, sir, that’s sartain; you looked up to me then, now I look up to you.”

I laughed at Cross’s observation, which was too true; and then we went into the dock-yard, and were very busy during the remainder of the day.

The following morning I received an answer from Lord de Versely, couched in most friendly terms. He complimented me on my success, and the high character I had gained for myself during so short a career, and added that he should be happy to see me as soon as I could come to London, and would himself introduce me to the first lord of the Admiralty. He advised me to request leave of absence, which would be immediately granted, and concluded his letter, “Your sincere friend and well-wisher, de Versely.”

As soon as I had laid down the letter, I said to myself, I was right—the true way to create an interest in a man like Lord de Versely, is to make him proud of you. I have done well as yet—I will try to do more; but how long will this success continue? Must I not expect reverses? May not some reaction take place? and have I not in some degree deserved it? Yes, I have used deceit in persuading him of my mother’s death. I began now to think that that was a false step, which, if ever discovered, might recoil upon me. I remained a long while in deep thought. I tried to extenuate my conduct in this particular, but I could not; and to rid myself of melancholy feelings, which I could not overcome, I wrote a letter, requesting leave of absence for a fortnight, and took it myself to the admiral’s office. This depression of spirits remained with me during the time that I remained at Portsmouth, when, having obtained leave, I set off for London, and on arrival, put up at a fashionable hotel in Albermarle Street.

Chapter Thirty.

The next morning I called at Lord de Versely’s and sent up my card. I was immediately ushered up, and found myself in his presence. Lord de Versely rose from his sofa, and took my hand. “Keene, I am very glad to see you. I am proud that an élève of mine should have done me so much credit. You have gained all your rank in the service by your own merit and exertions.”

“Not quite all, my lord,” replied I.

“Yes, all; for you are certain of your next step—they cannot well refuse it to you.”

“They will not refuse your lordship, I have no doubt,” replied I.

“Sit down, Keene. We will have a little conversation, and then we will go to the Admiralty.”

His lordship then asked me many questions relative to what had passed; and I entered into more detail than I had done in my letters. After an hour’s conversation, carried on by him in so friendly—I may almost say affectionate—a style as to make my heart bound with delight, the carriage was announced, and accompanied his lordship down to the Admiralty. His lordship sent up his card, and was requested immediately to go upstairs. He desired me to follow him; and as soon as we were in the presence of the first lord, and he and Lord de Versely had shaken hands, Lord de Versely said, “Allow me to introduce to you Captain Keene, whose name, at least, you have often heard of lately. I have brought him with me because he is a follower of mine: he entered the service under my protection, and continued with me until his conduct gave him his promotion. I have taken this opportunity of introducing him, to assure your lordship that, during the whole time that he served with me as midshipman, his gallantry was quite as conspicuous as it has been since.”

The first lord took me by the hand, and complimented me on my conduct.

“Captain Keene has strong claims, my lord. What can we do now for him?”

“I trust you will acknowledge that Captain Keene has earned his post rank, my lord,” replied Lord de Versely; “and I shall take it as a particular favour to myself if your lordship would appoint him to a frigate, and give him an opportunity of doing credit to your lordship’s patronage.”

“I think I may promise you both,” replied the first lord; “but when we meet in the house to-night, I will let you know what I can do.”

After a few minutes’ conversation, Lord de Versely rose, and we left the room. As soon as we were in the carriage his lordship said, “Keene, you may depend upon it I shall have good news to tell you to-morrow; so call upon me about two o’clock. I dine out to-day with the premier; but to-morrow you must dine with me.”

I took leave of his lordship as soon as the carriage stopped; and as I wished to appoint an agent, which I had not yet done, I had begged his lordship to recommend me one. He gave me the address of his own, and I went there accordingly. Having made the necessary arrangements, I then employed the remainder of the day in fitting myself out in a somewhat more fashionable style than Portsmouth tailors were equal to.

The next morning I sat down to write to my mother; but somehow or another I could not make up my mind to address her. I had thought of it, over and over, and had made up my mind that in future I would always correspond with my grandmother; and I now determined to write to her, explaining that such was my intention in future, and requesting that all answers should be also from my grandmother. I commenced my letter, however, with informing her that I had, since I had last written, obtained leave of absence, and was now in London. I stated the kindness shown me in every way by Lord de Versely, and how grateful I was to him. This continued down to the bottom of the first page, and then I said “What would I not give to bear the name of one I so much love and respect! Oh, that I was a Delmar!” I was just about to turn over the leaf and continue, when the waiter tapped at the door, and informed me that the tailor was come to try on the clothes which I had ordered. I went into the bed-room, which opened into the sitting-room, and was busy with the foreman, who turned me round and round, marking alterations with a piece of chalk, when the waiter tapped at the bed-room door, and said Lord de Versely was in the sitting-room. I took off the coat which was fitting as fast as I could, that I might not keep his lordship waiting, and put on my own.

Desiring the man to wait my return, I opened the door, and found his lordship on the sofa, and then for the first time, when I again saw it, recollected that I had left the letter on the table. The very sight of it took away my breath. I coloured up as I approached his lordship. I had quite forgotten that I had addressed my grandmother. I stammered out, “This is an honour, my lord.”

“I came to wish you joy of your promotion and appointment to a fine frigate, Keene,” said Lord de Versely. “I have just received this from the Admiralty; and as I have business unexpectedly come to hand, I thought I would be the bearer myself of the good news. I leave you the letter, and shall of course see you to dinner.”

“Many thanks, my lord,” replied I. “I am, indeed, grateful.”

“I believe you are, Keene,” replied his lordship. “By the bye, you leave your letters so exposed, that one cannot help seem them. I see you are writing to your grandmother. I hope the old lady is well?”

My grandmother! Oh, what a relief to my mind it was when I then recollected that it was to my grandmother that I had written! I replied that she was very well when I last heard from her.

“If I can be of any use in arranging your money affairs, Keene, let me know.”

“I thank you, my lord; but I found that my agent perfectly understands business,” replied I. “I will not trouble your lordship, who has so many important affairs to attend to.”

“Very good,” replied he. “Then now I’ll leave you to read what I have given you; and I shall expect you at eight. Goodbye.” His lordship again shook me warmly by the hand, and left me.

I was quite giddy with the reaction produced upon my feelings. When his lordship left the room I dropped down on the sofa. I forgot the letter in my hand and its contents, and the tailor in the next room. All I thought of was the danger I had escaped, and how fortunate I was in not having addressed the letter to my mother, as I had at first intended. The agony which I felt was very great, and, as I remained with my hands covering my eyes, I made a vow that nothing should induce me ever to use deceit again. I then read over the letter. There was nothing but gratitude to Lord de Versely, and a wish that I had been born a Delmar. Well, if his lordship had run his eyes over it, there was nothing to hurt me in his opinion; on the contrary, it proved that I was grateful; and I then recollected that when I expressed my gratitude, he said he believed it. As for my saying that I wished my name was Delmar, it was nothing, and it let him know what my wishes were. On the whole, I had great cause for congratulation.

I was here interrupted by the tailor who put his head out of the bed-room door. I went to him, and he finished his work, and promised me that I should have a complete suit at half-past seven o’clock in the evening, in time for dinner. I then returned to the sitting-room, and opened the letter which Lord de Versely had put into my hands. It was from the first lord, acquainting him that I might call at the Admiralty the next day, as my post-captain’s commission was signed, and I was appointed to a thirty-two gun frigate which would be launched in two or three months. Well, then, thought I, here I am, at twenty-three, a post-captain in his Majesty’s service, and commanding a frigate. Surely, I have much to be thankful for. I felt that I had, and I was grateful to Heaven for my good fortune. Now I had but one more wish in the world, and that was, instead of being Captain Keene, to be Captain Delmar.

The reader may say, “What’s in a name?” True; but such was my ambition, my darling wish, and it is ardent longing for anything, the ardour of pursuit, which increases the value of the object so much above its real value. The politician, who has been manoeuvring all his life does not perhaps feel more pleasure in grasping the coronet which he has been in pursuit of, than the urchin does when he first possesses himself of a nest which he has been watching for weeks. This would, indeed, be a dreary world if we had not some excitement, some stimulus to lead us on, which occupies our thoughts, and gives us fresh courage, when disheartened by the knavery, and meanness, and selfishness of those who surround us. How sad is the analysis of human nature—what contradictions, what extremes! how many really brave men have I fallen in with, stooping to every meanness for patronage, court favour, or gain; slandering those whose reputation they feared, and even descending to falsehood to obtain their ends! How many men with splendid talents, but with little souls!

Up to the present I had run a career of prosperous success; I had risen to a high position without interfering, or being interfered with by others; but now I had become of sufficient consequence to be envied; now I had soon to experience, that as you continue to advance in the world, so do you continue to increase the number of your enemies, to be exposed to the shafts of slander, to be foiled by treachery, cunning, and malevolence. But I must not anticipate.

I remained in London till my leave was expired, and then went down to Portsmouth to pay off the brig, which had been ordered into dock, to be refitted for his Majesty’s service.

Chapter Thirty One.

The Circe, thirty-two, to which I had been appointed, was a small but very beautiful frigate and as far as I could judge by her build as she lay on the stocks, had every requisite for sailing well.

When I took my leave of Lord de Versely, he told me that he should come down on the first of the following month (September) to Madeline Hall, where his aunt, Miss de Versely, was still flourishing at a green old age. “Here is a letter of introduction to her, Keene,” said he, “as she has not seen you since you were a few months old, and therefore it is not very likely that she would recognise you. Take my advice, and make yourself as agreeable to the old lady as you can; you will find Madeline Hall a very pleasant place, when you are tired of the dockyard and the smell of pitch and tar.”

I thanked his lordship, and we parted with much more cordiality shown by him than I had experienced.

I hardly need say, that the first person who came to congratulate me on my arrival at Portsmouth was my old friend an adviser Bob Cross. “Well, Captain Keene,” said Bob, as I shook him warmly by the hand, “I’m delighted at your success, and I know you will not be sorry to hear that I am getting on as well as I could wish in my small way; Jane and I are to be married in a few days, and I hope you will honour me by being present at the wedding.”

“That I will, Bob, with pleasure,” replied I; “let me hear all that has taken place.”

“Why, sir, it’s told in a few words. I took your advice, and brought the old gentleman presents, and I sat with him and heard all his old stories at least fifty times over, and laughed at his jokes as regularly the last time as the first; and he told Jane and her mother that I was a very pleasant, sensible and amusing young man—although he had all the talk, and I had none. The fact is, sir, it was he who first brought up the subject of my splicing his niece; that is to say, he hinted how he should like to see her well settled, and that if she married according to his wishes, he would leave her all he had.

“Well, sir, it was the opinion of Jane and her mother, that, as he was a whimsical, changeable old chap, it would be right for her to refuse me at first; and so she did, very much to the old man’s annoyance, who then set his mind upon it, and swore that if she did not marry me, he would not leave her a farthing. After a few days of quarrelling, Jane gave in, and the old chap swears that we shall be married immediately, and that he will give us half his property down at once.”

“Strike the iron while it’s hot, Bob,” replied I. “Is the day fixed?”

“Not exactly, sir; but we are to be put up in church next Sunday, and it takes three Sundays. I hope you won’t part with me, sir,” continued Bob. “The Diligente will be paid off on Tuesday, they say, and if you could get me appointed to the Circe—”

“Why, Cross, you are thinking of going to sea again, even before you are married. I should advise you not to be in such a hurry. You must not displease the old gentleman; besides, you must not leave a young wife so soon.”

“That’s very true, Captain Keene, but I don’t think I should be comfortable if I knew you were afloat without me.”

“I suppose you think that I cannot take care of myself.”

“Yes, I do, sir; but still I know that I should fret; and, sir, it will be four months at least before the Circe is ready for sea and I may just as well be appointed to her, and I can decide whether I do go to sea or not when the time comes.”

“Well, Cross, I will certainly apply for you; but, if you take my advice, you will give up the sea altogether, and live on shore.”

“I have nothing to do, sir.”

“Yes, you have; you have to cherish your wife, and look after the old gentleman.”

“Well he is rather shakey, they say sir; the old woman is often called out to him at nights.”

“Well, Cross, I will do as you wish, and time will decide how you are to act. I am going over to Southampton for a few days perhaps, and will take care to be back by the wedding. By-the-bye, have you heard anything about prize-money?”

“Yes, sir; it’s payable for the Diligente and schooner, and all our recaptures in the West Indies when we were in the Firefly. The Dutch frigate has been for distribution some time; but as I was only petty officer then, it won’t come to much.”

“Well, I can tell you that the government have taken the schooner which we captured in the chops of the channel, and the East India Company have given us salvage for the ship. My agent has received already 7,400 pounds on my account, which I have ordered to be purchased into the funds. As there were so few warrant officers, your share will not be less than 1,500 pounds, perhaps more. As you said, the salvage of the Indiaman has proved more valuable to us than all the rest of our prize-money put together.”

“Well, Captain Keene, if my prize-money comes to as much as that, I think I shall be nearly as well off as my little Jane will be. Will you have the kindness to let your agent put it by for me in the same way that you have done yours?”

“Yes, Cross, I will see to it immediately; I shall write to him to-morrow, or the day after.”

After a little conversation, Cross took leave. The next day I took post-horses, and went over to Madeline Hall, having two or three days before received a note from the Honourable Miss Delmar, saying how glad she should be to see me as a friend and shipmate of her nephew, Lord de Versely; so that it appeared the old lady had been written to by Lord de Versely respecting me.

I arrived early in the afternoon, and the post-chaise drove up the avenue of magnificent chestnut-trees which led to the mansion.

Chapter Thirty Two.

I must say that I was very much excited; I was now arriving at the site of my birth, and it brought to my mind the details given me by my poor mother, when, finding she could no longer conceal the truth from me, she entered into a narrative to extenuate her conduct, pointing out her temptations, and how fatal to her were opportunity and seclusion. Her form was before me with the tears running down her cheeks as she made her humiliating confession to her own son, and I could not help exclaiming, as I cast my eye upon the beautiful grounds, “My poor mother!”

The chaise stopped, and the boys dismounted and rang the bell. In a minute three or four servants made their appearance, and on inquiring, I found that the Honourable Miss Delmar was at home, and visible.

“Colonel Delmar, I presume, sir?” said the old butler.

“No,” replied I—“Captain Keene.”

The butler looked me full in the face, and earnestly; and then, as if recollecting himself, he bowed and went on.

“Captain Keene, madam,” said he, as he introduced me into a large room, at the end of which sat a venerable-looking old lady, very busy with her knitting needle, and another, almost equally ancient, sitting on a low stool beside her.

As I advanced, the old lady made me a bow as she remained in in her chair, and looked at me through her spectacles. She certainly was the beau-idéal of old age. Her hair, which was like silver, was parted in braid, and was to be seen just peeping from under her cap and pinners; she was dressed in black silk, with a snow-white apron and handkerchief, and there was an air of dignity and refinement about her which made you feel reverence for her at first sight. As I approached to take the chair offered to me, the other person, who appeared to be a sort of attendant, was shuffling her feet to rise; but as soon as Mrs Delmar had said, “You are welcome, Captain Keene; sit still,” she continued, “my child, there is no occasion to go away.” I could scarcely help smiling at the old lady calling a woman of past sixty, if not even further advanced, a child; but the fact was, that Phillis had been her attendant as lady’s maid for many years, and subsequently promoted to the position of humble companion.

As for Miss Delmar, as I afterwards found out from her own lips, she was upwards of eighty-seven years old, but still in perfect good health, and in full possession of all her faculties; Phillis therefore was much younger, and as the old lady had had her in her employ ever since she was twenty-two, it was not surprising that she continued to address her, as she had done for so many years, as a young person compared to herself; indeed I have no doubt but that the old lady, following up her association of former days, and forgetting the half-century that had intervened, did consider her as a mere child. The old lady was very chatty and very polite, and as our conversation naturally turned on Lord de Versely, of whom I spoke in terms of admiration and gratitude, I had soon established myself in her good graces. Indeed, as I subsequently discovered, her nephew was the great object of her affections. His younger brother had neglected her, and was never mentioned except when she regretted that Lord de Versely had no children, and that the title would descend to his brother.

She requested me to stay for dinner, which I did not refuse, and before dinner was over I had made great progress in the old lady’s esteem. As, when dinner was announced, her companion disappeared, we were then alone. She asked me many questions relative to Lord de Versely, and what had occurred during the time that I was serving with him; and this was a subject on which I could be eloquent. I narrated several of our adventures, particularly the action with the Dutch frigate, and other particulars in which I could honestly do credit to his lordship, and I often referred to his kindness for me.

“Well, Captain Keene, my nephew has often spoken to me about you, and now you have done him credit in proving that he had made you a good officer; and I have heard how much you have distinguished yourself since you have left him.”

“Or rather he left me, madam,” replied I, “when he was summoned to the House of Peers.”

“Very true,” replied the old lady. “I suppose you know that you were born in this house, Captain Keene?”

“I have been told so, madam.”

“Yes, I have no doubt your poor mother that’s gone must have told you. I recollect her—a very clever, active, and pretty young woman (here the old lady sighed); and I held you in my arms, Captain Keene, when you were only a few days old.”

“You did me great honour, madam,” replied I.

Here the conversation took another channel, which I was not sorry for.

After tea, I rose to take my leave, and then I received an invitation from the old lady to come and spend some time at Madeline Hall, and to come a few days before the first of September, that I might join the shooting party. “I expect my nephew, Lord de Versely,” said she, “and there is Colonel Delmar of the Rifles, a cousin of Lord de Versely, also coming, and one or two others. Indeed I expect the colonel every day. He is a very pleasant and gentleman-like man.”

I accepted the invitation with pleasure, and then took my leave. The chaise drove off, and I was soon in a deep reverie; I called to mind all my mother had told me, and I longed to return to the Hall, and visit those scenes which had been referred to in my mother’s narrative; and more than that, I wished to meet Lord de Versely on the spot which could not fail to call to his mind my mother, then young, fond, and confiding; how much she had sacrificed for him; how true she had proved to his interests, and how sacred the debt of obligation, which he could only repay by his conduct towards me.

On my return to Portsmouth, I found that orders had come down for the paying off the Diligente, and re-commissioning her immediately. As the men would now be free (until again caught by the impress, which would not be long), I turned up the ship’s company, and asked how many of them would enter for the Circe. I pointed out to them that they would be impressed for other vessels before long, but that I could give them each three months of absence, upon which they would not be molested, and that by three months all their money would be gone, and if it were gone before that time, the guard-ship would receive them when they had had enough of the shore. By this method I proposed to myself to obtain the foundation of a good ship’s company. I was not disappointed. Every man I wished to take with me volunteered, and I wrote leave of absence tickets for three months for them all as belonging to the Circe, reporting what I had done to the Admiralty. The brig was then paid off, and the next day re-commissioned by a Captain Rose, with whom I had some slight acquaintance.

As I was now my own master again,—for although appointed to the Circe, I had nothing but my pennant to look at,—I thought that, by way of a little change, I would pass a few days at the Isle of Wight; for this was the yachting season, and I had made the acquaintance of many of the gentlemen who belonged to the club. That I had no difficulty in getting into society may easily be imagined. A post-captain’s commission in his Majesty’s navy is a certain passport with all liberal and really aristocratical people; and, as it is well known that a person who has not had the advantage of interest and family connections to advance in the service, must have gained his promotion by his own merits, his rank is sufficient to establish his claims to family connections or personal merit, either of which is almost universally acknowledged; I say almost universally, because, strange to say, for a succession of reigns, the navy never has been popular at court. In that region, where merit of any kind is seldom permitted to intrude, the navy have generally been at a discount. Each succession of the House of Hanover has been hailed by its members with fresh hopes of a change in their favour, which hopes have ended in disappointment; but perhaps it is as well. The navy require no prophet to tell it, in the literal sense of the word, that one cannot touch pitch without being defiled; but there is a moral pitch, the meanness, the dishonesty, and servility of Court, with which, I trust, our noble service will never be contaminated.

I have, however, somewhat wandered from my subject, which was brought up in consequence of a gentleman who had paid me every attention at a large club down at Cowes, to which I had been invited, inquiring of me, across the table, if I were connected with the Keenes of —? My reply was ready: “I did not think that I was; my father had died a young man in the East Indies. I knew that he was of Scotch descent (which he was), but I was too young to know anything about his connections, whom he had quitted at an early age; since that I had been educated and brought forward by Lord de Versely, who had, since the death of my mother, treated me as if I were his own son.” This was said openly, and being strictly true, of course without hesitation on my part. It was quite sufficient; I had noble patronage, and it was therefore to be presumed that I was somebody, or that patronage would not have been extended. I mention this, because it was the only time that I was ever questioned about my family; it was therefore to be presumed that my reply was considered satisfactory.

I accepted an invitation on board of the yacht and sailed about for several days, very much amused and flattered by the attention shown to me by the noble commodore and others. One day I fell in with an old acquaintance. A small vessel, of about twenty tons, cutter-rigged, came down under the stern of the commodore’s yacht; it was then very smooth water, very light wind, and, moreover, very hot weather; and one of the squadron, who was standing by me on the taffrail, said, “Keene, do look at this craft coming down under our stern—there’s quite a curiosity in it. It is a yacht belonging to an Irish Major O’Flinn, as he calls himself; why the O, I don’t know; but he’s a good fellow, and very amusing; there he is abaft; he has the largest whiskers you ever saw; but it is not of him I would speak. Wait a little, and as soon as the square sail is out of the way, you will see his wife. Such a whapper! I believe she weighs more than the rhinoceros did which was at Post-down fair.”

As the vessel neared, I did behold a most enormous woman in a sky-blue silk dress, and a large sky-blue parasol over her head; the bonnet having been taken off, I presume, on account of the heat. “She is a monster,” replied I; “the major was a bold man; I think I have seen the face before.”

“I am told that she was the daughter of a purser, and had a lot of money,” continued my friend.

I recollected then, and I replied, “Yes; I know now, her name was Culpepper.”

“That was the name,” replied he; “I recollect now.”

The reader may probably recollect Miss Medea, who knew so well how to put that and that together; and her mother, who I presumed had long ago been suffocated in her own fat, a fate which I thought that Mrs O’Flinn would meet with as well as her mother. The lady did not recognise me, which I was not sorry for. I certainly should have cut her dead. I walked forward, and my thoughts reverted to the time when my mother first brought me down to embark, and I was taken care of by Bob Cross. This recollection of Bob Cross reminded me that I had promised to be at his wedding, and that it was to take place on the following day, which I had quite forgotten. So that Mrs O’Flinn did me a good turn at last, as I should have neglected my promise, if she had not made her appearance, sailing along like an elephantine Cleopatra.

Chapter Thirty Three.

I had not called upon old Waghorn, the uncle of Jane; as I was fearful that he might recognise the pretended agent of former days with the now captain of the Circe. The blind are very acute in all their other senses,—a species of reparation made by nature by way of indemnification for the severe loss which they have sustained.

As I grew older I grew wiser, and I could not help remarking, that the acts of deceit, which as a midshipman I thought not only very justifiable, but good fun, were invariably attended with unpleasant results. Even in this trifle my heart misgave me, whether on my appearance at the wedding I might not I be recognised, and be the cause of creating a breach, by raising suspicions on the part of the blind man which might prevent the wedding; and I had stated my fears to Bob Cross. “Well, Captain Keene, it was all done with good intentions, and I do not think that there is much fear. It’s a long while back, and you were not so much of a man as you are now. They do say, that cheating never thrives, and I believe that it seldom does in the long run. Jane will be much disappointed if you do not come.”

“There is no help for it, Bob; I must disguise my voice; I must cheat a little now to hide the first cheat. That’s always the case in this world.”

“I don’t call it cheating, sir; my ideas are, that if you cheat to get advantage for yourself, then you do cheat; but when you do so to help another, there’s no great cheating in the case.”

“I cannot agree with you, Bob; but let us say no more about it. I will be with you at ten o’clock, which you say is the hour that you go to church.”

This conversation took place on the morning of the wedding. About eight o’clock, I dressed and breakfasted, and then took a wherry over to Gosport, and in half an hour was at the house, which was full of people with white favours, and in such a bustle, that it reminded me of a hive of bees just previous to a swarm.

“Here’s the captain come, sir,” said Bob, who had received me; for the bride was still in her room with her mother.

“Happy to see you, sir; I wish you joy, Mr Waghorn,” replied I, taking his hand.

“You’re Captain Keene, then, whose letters to the Admiralty Jane has so often read to me in the newspapers. Where have we met? I’ve heard that voice before.”

“Indeed sir,” replied I, rather confused.

“Yes, I have; I always know a voice again; let me see—why, captain, you were here with Cross, the first time I ever heard him—you were an agent, and now you’re a captain,” continued the old man, looking very grave.

“Hush, sir,” replied I: “pray don’t speak so loud. Do you recollect what I came about? Do you suppose that when I was a party to the escape of a prisoner I could let you know, being a perfect stranger, that I was an officer in his Majesty’s service?”

“Very true,” replied the old man, “I cannot blame you for that. But was Cross an officer in the service at that time?”

“No, sir, he was not,” replied I; “he was appointed boatswain to my ship by the admiral in the West Indies.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I thought Cross might have deceived me also; every one tries to cheat a blind man—and the blind are suspicious. I’m glad that Cross did not deceive me, or I would have seen my niece in her coffin before—but say no more about it, you could not do otherwise; all’s right, sir, and I’m very glad to see you, and to have the honour of your company. Sit down, sir, I beg. By the bye, Captain Keene, have you heard of the girl since?”

“My dear sir,” replied I, glad to give him my confidence, “there are no secrets between us now; it was no girl, but the son of the captain of the Dutch frigate, and an officer, whose escape you assisted in.”

“I don’t wonder, then, at your not making yourself known,” replied the old man. “Why, if I had known it had been an officer, I never would have had a hand in the job—but a poor girl, it was mere charity to assist her, and I thought I was acting the part of a Christian, poor blind sinner that I am.”

“You did a kind act, sir, and Heaven will reward you.”

“We are sad, wicked creatures, Captain Keene,” replied he. “I wish this day was over, and my poor Jane made happy; and then I should have nothing to do but to read my Bible, and prepare for being called away; it’s never too soon, depend upon it, sir.”

The appearance of the bride with her bridesmaids put an end to our conversation, which I was not sorry for. The order of march was arranged, and we started off for the church on foot, making a very long and very gay procession. In half an hour it was all over, and we returned. I then had an opportunity of telling Cross what had passed between me and old Waghorn.

“It was touch and go, sir, that’s sartin,” replied Bob; “for if the old gentleman had not been satisfied, he is so obstinate that the match would have been broken off at the church door. Well, sir, I always said that you were the best to get out of a scrape that I ever knew when you were a middy, and you don’t appear to have lost the talent; it was well managed.”

“Perhaps so, Bob; but in future I do not intend to get into them, which will be managing better still.” I then left Cross, and went to talk to Jane, who certainly looked very handsome. The tables for dinner were laid out in the garden, for it was a beautiful warm autumnal day. We sat down about twenty, and a merrier party I never was at. Old Waghorn was the only one who got tipsy on the occasion, and it was very ridiculous to hear him quoting scraps of Scripture in extenuation, and then calling himself a poor blind old sinner. It was not till eight o’clock in the evening that the party broke up, and I had then some difficulty to persuade some to go away. As for the old man, he had been put to bed an hour before. I staid a few minutes after all were gone, and then, kissing Jane, and shaking hands with Bob, I went back to Portsmouth.

Chapter Thirty Four.

As soon as I was at home again, the events of the day, from association of ideas, naturally brought Minnie Vanderwelt into my head, and I recollected that I had not written to her since my promotion and appointment to the Circe; I therefore sat down and indited a long letter, ending with expressing my regret at not having received an answer from the many I had written, especially the last, which informed them of my arrival in England, and gave them the knowledge where to address me. I also requested to know what had become of young Vangilt, whose escape I had contrived. Having enclosed that letter to the agent, and begged him to have it forwarded to Hamburg, I went to bed, and, after the excitement of the day, had a variety of dreams, in which Minnie’s form was continually making its appearance.

The following morning brought me a long letter from my aunt, Mrs Bridgeman, very lively and very amusing: the only news in it was the marriage of Lieutenant Flat to a tavern-keeper’s daughter, which had given great offence to the marine corps, as she was said to be rather light of carriage. She begged me very much to pay them a visit, but that was not all to my wishes, I most candidly confess. My pride revolted at it; I even doubt if I would have fitted out a ship at Chatham where people could point their finger at me, and say—That post-captain’s father was a marine in those barracks. Another letter from Lord de Versely, announcing his arrival at Madeline Hall, and requesting me to join him as soon as possible, was infinitely more to my taste, and I resolved to start next day, which I did. I was very cordially received by his lordship, and very graciously by the old lady, who expressed a hope that I would now make a long visit. About an hour after I had arrived, Colonel Delmar made his appearance: he was a cousin of Lord de Versely’s, but I certainly should not, from his appearance, have supposed him to be a Delmar: for he was short, round-shouldered, and with a fat, rubicund face, apparently about forty years of age. I observed, after our introduction, that his eyes were very often directed towards me; but his manner was courteous, and, although his appearance at first sight was not prepossessing, his conversation was very agreeable, and he was very gentleman-like. Before dinner was over, I felt a great liking for him.

As the first of September had not yet arrived, the birds had still two days of peace and quietness, leading their broods through the stubbles, and pointing out to them the corn which had spilled on the ground, for their food. That the old birds had some idea of a gun, it is to be supposed, from their having escaped the season before; but the young coveys had still that pleasure to come; in two days more they were to be initiated into the astonishing fact, that fast as feathers could fly, lead could fly faster, and overtake them.

The two or three days before the shooting season begins are invariably very tedious in the country, and I passed my morning chiefly in roaming through the park and pleasure grounds, and I hardly need say that, during those rambles, my thoughts were chiefly occupied with the intimacy which had taken place between my mother and Lord de Versely. On the third morning after my arrival I had been strolling for more than two hours, when I came to a very retired sort of Gothic cell, formed of the distended limbs of an old oak, intermixed with stones and grass. It faced towards the park, and was built up on the green lawn amidst clumps of laurel and other evergreens. I threw myself on the benches. It was just the place for a man to select for a rendezvous: just the secret spot where a maiden could listen without trembling at intruders; and it struck me that this must have been the trysting place of my parents. For an hour I remained there, castle-building for the future, and musing on the past, when I heard a voice, close to me on the other side of the cell, the back of which was turned towards the hall. I knew the voice to be that of the old lady, who, it appears, had, as usual, come out in her garden chair, and was dragged by her attendant, Phillis: the wheels had made no noise on the velvet lawn, and, until roused by her voice, I was not aware of their approach.

“Nonsense, Phillis; why, child, what should you know about such things?” said the old lady.

“If you please to recollect, ma’am,” replied Phillis, who certainly was old enough to recollect all the passages in a woman’s life, “I was your maid at the time that it happened, and I was constantly in company with Bella Mason. She was very respectful towards you, but you did not know what her temper was; there never was so proud a young woman, or who considered herself of such consequence as she did—so much so, that she treated even Mr Jonas, the butler, and Mrs Short, the housekeeper, with disdain.”

“Well, well, I know that she was proud; her mother was always a proud woman. Mr Mason, in his younger days, held property of his own, at least his father did, but he ran through it revelling and horse-racing; but what does that prove?”

“I only say, madam, what was said at the time by everybody, that Bella Mason never would have married that marine, whom she looked upon with contempt, although he certainly was a good-looking young man, if she had not been obliged to do so.”

“But why obliged, Phillis?”

“To conceal her shame, madam; for, if you recollect, the child was born three months after marriage.”

“I recollect that, very well,” replied Miss Delmar; “it was a sad thing, and, as my nephew said, I ought to have looked out sharper after Bella than I did, and not have allowed her to be so much in company with that marine.”

“That marine, ma’am! he was innocent enough; Bella was not likely to listen to one like him.”

“Who can you mean then, Phillis?”

“Why, Lord de Versely, ma’am, to be sure. Everybody in the Hall was sure the child was his; he and Bella were for ever together for months before her marriage.”

“Phillis, Phillis, you don’t know what you are saying—it’s impossible; indeed, I recollect talking the matter over with Lord de Versely, who was then Captain Delmar, and he was more shocked at the impropriety than even I was, and offered to give the marine a good whipping.”

“That may be, madam, but still Captain Delmar was the father of that boy; for, if you recollect, old Mrs Mason came to the Hall, and went away almost immediately.”

“Well, what of that? she was displeased no doubt.”

“Yes, indeed she was, madam; but she had a private meeting with Captain Delmar; and Mrs Short, the housekeeper, overheard what passed, and I understand that the captain did not deny it to her. One thing is certain, that Mrs Mason, as she was going away, in her rage made use of language about Captain Delmar, which otherwise she never would have dared. And, then, madam, only look at Captain Keene,—why, he is the very image of his lordship.”

“He is very like him, certainly,” said the old lady, musing.

“And then, madam, do you think his lordship would have brought the boy up in the service, and made him a post-captain, if he had been the son of a marine? And then, madam, see how fond his lordship is of him; why, he dotes upon him; and would he ask the son of his own servant to come down to Madeline Hall, as fit company for you? No; so, madam, depend upon it, Captain Keene is a Delmar, and no wonder his lordship is so fond of him, madam; for he is his only child, and I dare say his lordship would give him his right hand if he could leave him the barony and estates, instead of them going away, as they will, to his younger brother’s children.”

“Well, well, Phillis, it may be so. I don’t know what to think of it. I shall speak to Lord de Versely about it; for if Captain Keene is a Delmar, he must be looked to. He is a Delmar, although with the bar sinister. I feel a little cold, Phillis, so drag me to the terrace, that I may get a little sunshine.”

Phillis, I thank thee, said I to myself, as the chair wheeled away. Your love of chatting may be useful to me. Perhaps his lordship may now acknowledge my birth to his aunt, and good may come of it. I waited till the chair wheels were heard on the gravel walk, and then quitted the grotto, and bent my steps away from the Hall, that I might commune with my own thoughts without chance of interruption.

I had quitted the park, and was now pacing over several fields, one after another, walking as if I had some important business in hand, when in fact, my legs were only trying to keep pace with my thoughts, when I vaulted over a gate, and found myself in a narrow lane, sunk deep between two hedges. Indifferent as to the path I took, I turned to the right, and continued on my way, walking as fast as before, when I heard the low bellowing of an animal. This induced me to raise my eyes, and I witnessed a curious scene in front of me, which I will narrate in the next chapter.

Chapter Thirty Five.

As I said before, the lane was very narrow, not admitting more than one vehicle to go along it, and was sunk between the hedges on each side, so as to render it not very easy to climb up the bank. The parties who presented themselves were, first a cow with her tail turned towards me, evidently a wicked one, as she was pawing and bellowing in a low tone, and advancing towards two people who were the object of her attack. One was a very little man, dressed in black, the other a stout burly young fellow in a shooting-jacket; but what amused me most was, that the stout young fellow, instead of being in the advance to defend one so much smaller than himself, not only kept behind the little man, but actually now and then held him by the shoulders before his own person, as a shield to ward off the expected attack of the vicious animal. It is true that the little personage expostulated, and spoke several times in a tone of command to his companion, but his words were unheeded, and the cow advanced, and they retreated in the order which I have described.

I quickened my pace, so as to gain rapidly upon them, and was soon but a few yards from the animal. I had no stick or weapon of any kind, but still I knew how to manage unruly cattle as sailors do when they were sent on board ship alive. Indeed I had more than once put it into practice myself; and although with a bull it was not a very easy matter, with a cow I felt certain that I could effect my purpose.

The animal appeared now determined to come to close quarters; and I therefore approached her until I was about a couple of feet from her flank, all ready for a spring, in case she should see me, and turn round. But she was too busy with the parties in front of her, and at last she made a run. The stout young man pushed the little man towards the cow, and then ran for it. The little one, in his attempt to recoil, fell on the turf, and the cow made at him. I sprang forward, and catching the horn of the animal farthest from me in my right hand, at the same time put my left knee on the horn nearest to me, threw all my weight upon it, so as to turn the animal’s nose up in the air, and seizing it by the nostrils with the other hand, I held her head in that position, which of course rendered the animal harmless. In that position the cow went over the prostrate man without doing him any injury, plunging and capering, so as to extricate herself from my weight. I remained clinging to her for about ten yards further, when I perceived the stout fellow ahead, who hallooed out, “Hold her tight! hold her tight!” but that I would no longer do, as it was fatiguing work; so, as a punishment for his cowardice, I let go the animal, springing clear off, and behind it, the cow galloping away as fast as she could down the lane, and the fellow screaming and running before as fast as he could.

Having thus rid myself of the cow and the coward, I turned back to where the other party had been left on the ground, and found him standing up, and looking at what was passing. “You’re not hurt, sir?” said I.

“No, thanks to you; but no thanks to that rascally clerk of mine, who wanted to shove me on the cow’s horns to save himself.”

“He has a run for it now, at all events;” replied I, laughing, “and I let the cow loose on purpose; for if I had held on, and used all my strength, I could have brought her down on her side and kept her down. Oh! there’s a break in the bank, and he has climbed up it, so he is safe for a good fright,” continued I; “and now we had better get away ourselves; for the animal may come back, and, although one can pin her in that way from behind, it is not to be done when she comes stem on to you.”

“Well, sir, I have heard of taking the bull by the horns as not being a very wise thing; but taking a cow by them has probably saved my life. I thank you.”

“We manage them that way on board ship,” replied I, laughing.

“You are a sailor, then, sir,” replied the little man. “Probably I have the pleasure of addressing Captain Keene?”

“That is my name,” replied I; “but here is the cow coming back, and the sooner we get to the gate the better. I’m not ashamed to run for it, and I suppose you are not either.” So saying, I took to my heels, followed by my new companion, and we very soon put the barred gate between us and our enemy.

“I will wish you good day now, sir,” said I; “I am going to the Hall.”

“I am also bound there, Captain Keene,” replied my companion, “and, with your permission, will accompany you. Egad, we may meet another cow,” said he, laughing, “and I prefer being in your company.”

He then informed me that he was the solicitor and agent of the Honourable Miss Delmar, and had been sent for about some new leases, and that his name was Warden. During our walk I found him a very cheerful, merry little man, and a very good companion.

On our arrival at the Hall, Mr Warden was informed that Miss Delmar was not able to receive him just then, as she was very busy with Lord de Versely, who was with her in her private room. I therefore remained with Mr Warden for about an hour, when Lord de Versely came down and joined us. He appeared to be in a remarkable gay humour, and shook me warmly by the hand when he came in.

“Now, Mr Warden, you are to go up and receive your instructions, and recollect, the sooner everything is executed the better.”

Mr Warden left the room, and I narrated to his lordship the adventure with the cow. Just as I had begun it, Colonel Delmar came in, and listened to my narration.

In about half an hour Mr Warden came down-stairs, and with a very smiling face.

“Well, Mr Warden,” said his lordship, “have you your instructions?”

“Yes, my lord and I assure you that I never shall execute any with so much pleasure. Has Captain Keene told you how he saved my life this morning?”

“No, he did not say that,” replied his lordship; “but he has told me about the cow, and your clerk putting you foremost in the breach.”

“She would have made a breach in me I expect, if it had not been for the captain,” replied Mr Warden; “and you may therefore believe me, my lord, when I say that I shall obey my instructions with pleasure. I wish you good morning. Good morning, Captain Keene. Colonel, your most obedient.” So saying, Mr Warden left the room. I was very much struck with Mr Warden’s observation, that he would execute his instructions with so much pleasure; and when I turned round, I perceived that Colonel Delmar was looking very grave; but the first dinner bell rang, and we all went to our rooms to dress. Well, thought I, as I was dressing myself, I presume the old lady has left me a thousand or two in her will. I cared little about that, and then I dismissed the subject from my thoughts; but as I sat by Miss Delmar after dinner, I could not help thinking that her manner towards me was more affectionate than it had been before; the hauteur with which her civility and kindness had hitherto been blended appeared to have been thrown aside; I presumed that Lord de Versely had been speaking in my favour, and felt grateful to him for his kindness. Perhaps, thought I, he has revealed to her the secret of my birth, and she now considers me as a relation; perhaps she may have left me more than I supposed. However, it is of little consequence.

Chapter Thirty Six.

The next day, being the first of September, we were all very busy, and we continued to shoot every day for a week, when I thought it time to return to Portsmouth. I mentioned my intentions to Lord de Versely, and was pressed to stay until the following Saturday, it being then Tuesday. On Wednesday Mr Warden made his appearance, attended by his clerk, who carried a bag of papers. He remained half an hour and then went home; but, before he went, he asked me to dine with him on the following day, and I consented.

After we returned from shooting the next day, I changed my clothes, and, leaving word with the butler that I dined out, I took my way across the fields. I was walking very quietly on the grass, by the side of a high hedge, when I perceived two other men on the opposite side; one I recognised as Colonel Delmar; the other I could not at first make out; but, as I approached them, I perceived that the colonel was talking with the clerk of Mr Warden. I passed them without notice, for they were very earnestly engaged in conversation. What they said, I did not know; but I thought it singular that so proud a person as Colonel Delmar should be so engaged with an inferior; a little reflection, however made me consider that there was nothing very surprising in Colonel Delmar’s entering into conversation with a man in the country. They might be talking about the game, or a hundred other things.

I had a very friendly dinner with Mr Warden, who, after dinner, gave me a hint that I should not be the worse for the papers signed the day before. He did not however, say anything positive, as it would have been a breach of trust. When I spoke of my soon being afloat again, he said that he would not fail to watch over my interests at the Hall during my absence, and he requested that I would write to him, and consider him as my sincere friend. “Of course, my dear Captain Keene, I do not expect that you will at present give me your entire confidence; but I trust you will when you know me, and at all events that you will not fail to do so when my advice may be of use to you. I have a debt of obligation to pay, and I shall be most happy to do so, if it is in my power!” I thanked Mr Warden for his kind offers, and promised to avail myself of them, and we parted great friends.

The next day, Friday, we had a large addition to our shooting party. I had not been out more than an hour, when, as I was standing near Lord de Versely, who was re-loading his gun, a report, close to us, was heard, and I fell down close to his feet, apparently dead. A keeper, who was with us, ran to see who had discharged the gun, and found that it was Colonel Delmar, who now ran up to us, stating, in hurried terms, to Lord de Versely, that his gun had gone off accidentally as he was putting on a copper cap, and bitterly lamenting the circumstance. Lord de Versely was at the time kneeling down by my side (as I was afterwards informed), showing the greatest anxiety and grief. My hat had been taken off; it was full of blood and the back of my head was much torn with the shot. I remained insensible, although breathing heavily; a gate was taken off its hinges, and I was laid upon it, and carried to the Hall.

Before the surgeon had arrived, I had recovered my senses. On examination, I had had a very narrow escape; the better part of the charge of shot had entered the back part of my head, but fortunately not any had penetrated through the skull. After a tedious hour, employed in extracting this load, my head was bound up, and I was made comfortable in my bed. I must say that Lord de Versely and Colonel Delmar vied with each other in their attentions to me; the latter constantly accusing himself as the author of the mischief, and watching by my bed the major part of the day.

This accident delayed my departure, and it was not until three weeks afterwards, that I was sufficiently recovered to leave my room. In the meantime, Lord de Versely, assured that I was out of danger, went back to London. The colonel, however, remained. His kindness and attention had given me great pleasure, and we had become very intimate. He had offered to go with me to Portsmouth, and I had expressed the pleasure I should have in his company. The Honourable Miss Delmar had shown the greatest feeling and anxiety for me during my illness; so had Mr Warden, who often called to see me; in fact, I found myself so surrounded by well-wishers and friends, that I hardly regretted my accident.

At the end of the fifth week, I was sufficiently recovered to be able to return to Portsmouth, where I was now very anxious to arrive, as the Circe had been launched and had already received her lower masts. I took my leave of Miss Delmar, who requested my early return to Madeline Hall, and, accompanied by Colonel Delmar, was once more established at Billett’s Hotel.

Bob Cross was the first who made his appearance; for I had written to him to acquaint him with my intended return. He had heard of my narrow escape, as it had been put into the newspaper; his information was trifling, but to the purpose. All was right as to the frigate: she sat on the water like a duck; the rigging was far advanced, and the officers seemed of the right sort. All was right, also, as to his matrimonial affairs; his wife was every thing he wished; the old gentleman was as sweet as molasses, and he had laid the keel of a young Cross. We then entered upon business, and I gave him some directions as to the rigging, and he left me.

The next morning, the first lieutenant called to pay his respects, and his appearance and conversation proved him to be what he had been recommended as, a good seaman and a brave man. I went with him to the dockyard to look at the frigate in the basin, and afterwards on board the hulk to see the other officers and the men, who had been entered. I had every reason to be satisfied, and I then returned to the hotel, to dine with Colonel Delmar. This officer appeared to have taken a strong interest in me, and ever since the accident of his gun going off, which had so nearly been fatal to me, was unbounded in his professions of regard. I must say, that a more gentleman-like or more amusing companion I never met with. A great intimacy was established between us; he was constantly making me presents of value, which I would fain have prevented his doing; occasionally, when we were alone, he would hint something about my family and parentage; but this was a subject upon which I was invariably silent, and I immediately changed the conversation; once only I replied, that my father and mother were both dead.

On my arrival at Portsmouth, I found several letters waiting for me, and among them two or three from my mother, who had seen the report in the newspaper of the escape that I had had, and, of course, was excessively anxious to hear from my own hand how I was. Had I thought that it would have come to her knowledge, I certainly should have written to my grandmother from Madeline Hall; but I imagined that she knew nothing about it, until my return to Portsmouth, when her anxious letters proved the contrary; for in her anxiety she had quite forgotten her promise that all communication should be through my grandmother.

As soon as I had read the letters I locked them up in my desk, and hastened to reply to them, assuring my mother of my perfect restoration to health, and cautioned her not to break through the agreement we had made for the future, pointing out to her that had these letters been forwarded to Madeline Hall, her handwriting would have been recognised. I said, in conclusion, “I must say, my dear mother, that I now heartily repent that we should have resorted to the step we have done in pretending that you are dead. That some advantage was gained by it at the time, I really believe; but I have a feeling that eventually some mischief may occur from it. I hope I may be mistaken; but if I am not, it will only be the punishment which I deserve for an act of duplicity which I have repented of ever since.”

Chapter Thirty Seven.

My time was now fully employed during the day in fitting out the frigate; but in the evening I generally dined out at the admiral’s or at the officers’ mess. I received several invitations from the marine mess to dine with them; but I always contrived to be engaged, for I was fearful that something might be said relative to my putative father, Ben, which might hurt my pride. Not that I had any reason to suppose that any of the officers would have been guilty of any such rudeness; but as a great deal of wine was drank when company were at the mess, and there were many young men there, it was possible that, having the knowledge, they might in their cups say something which they never would have done when they were sober. The colonel very often dined there, and constantly asked me why I refused. My reply was certainly not the truth, for I said that I was not very partial to marine officers.

We had been three weeks at Portsmouth when Colonel Delmar received a letter from a friend of his, a Major Stapleton, which he read aloud to me at breakfast. It stated that the major would be down at Portsmouth the next day, and requested the colonel to procure him good rooms. “He is an excellent fellow, the major,” continued the colonel, “and will be a great addition to our society. I will prevail upon him to stay a week or ten days.”